


Christmas Traditions

by Browneyesparker



Series: Christmas 2015 [3]
Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Elementary - Freeform, F/M, Friendship, Holidays, Joanlock - Freeform, Romance, tradition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-04 19:36:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5346089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Browneyesparker/pseuds/Browneyesparker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joan & Sherlock observe some Christmas traditions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas Traditions

**.**

**_decorating the tree_ **

“Move it to the left,” Joan said, standing back and shaking her head. “That doesn’t work. Move it to the right. No, that doesn’t work either. Maybe you should move it to _between_ the windows.”

“I _cannot_ believe I’m doing this,” Sherlock mumbled as he positioned the Christmas tree in the middle of the windows.

“Doing what?” Joan asked, smirking at him.

“Helping you decorate a Christmas tree,” Sherlock answered.

“You’ve never decorated a Christmas tree before?”

“The staff usually did it.”

“Yeah, we sort of had a staff too Sherlock and _we_ always decorated the tree and watched _White Christmas_ ,” Joan told him.

“Yes, well, not everybody has normal childhoods. As we’ve already established. Is the tree to your satisfaction now?”

Joan looked at it and nodded. “It is. Thank you. Do you want to stay and decorate the tree with me?”

Sherlock sighed like it would be a huge imposition to him. “I suppose I could help you put the lights on. If you’d like.”

“You think you can handle Christmas lights?” Joan asked, her lips twitching. “You do realize that they come snarled and you have to untangle them before you can actually put them on the tree?”

“Please Joan, if I can handle my father then I can most certainly handle your _lights_.”

“We’ll see,” Joan answered. “I’m going to make popcorn and hot chocolate. Have fun! I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

She took her time popping the popcorn and warming the milk for the hot chocolate because she really wanted to see how Sherlock would react to having to wrestle with Christmas lights. When she came back into the living room, he was holding the string of lights up triumphantly.

“ _How_ did you do that!?” Joan asked in shock as she set the tray of snacks down.

“It was quite easy,” Sherlock replied.

“Says no one _ever_!” Joan answered. “Tell me how you did it.”

“All it took was simple application, my dear Watson.”

“You’re not going to tell me how you did it then?” Joan asked, taking a handful of popcorn and munching on it. “You know, as part of my training as a detective?”

“Maybe next year,” Sherlock answered. “I suppose you want me to wind them around the tree now. That should be simple enough.”

“I’ll put the movie on,” Joan said. “You’ve never seen _White Christmas_ have you?”

“Of course I’ve seen _White Christmas_! I make it a point to educate myself on all aspects of knowledge. Including pop culture,” Sherlock told her. “You know me well enough to know _that_ , Joan. And I do have you for everything else that relates to modern culture.”

“Well, in all fairness you didn’t know who Miss Fisher was.”

"So? She’s not the greatest fictional detective there ever was!” Sherlock said as he started to string the lights.

Joan put _White Christmas_ in the DVD player and pressed play. “No one ever said that she was the best detective _ever_.”

"And she makes that Inspector Detective’s life miserable,” Sherlock continued.

“You know he loves it though,” Joan answered as she started to get ornaments out and organize them.

Sherlock looked at her fondly. “Well, I _can_ understand that.”

“Oh, you can? Can you?” Joan asked smiling at him as the opening scene of _White Christmas_ started to play.

“More than you can imagine, actually.”

Joan threw a handful of popcorn at him and laughed. “I wasn’t that bad! If anything, you were the one who came along and made _my_ life miserable!”

“Even if _that’s_ true, it wouldn’t matter because you _love_ it!” Sherlock answered.

“Come on, get moving! I want to decorate the tree before we both die of old age!” Joan said in response.

**_making a gingerbread house_ **

“I don’t see how this is any fun!” Sherlock grumbled.

“It just _is_!” Joan answered. “Quit your grumbling Sherlock and hand over the bowl of gumdrops.”

“You actually expect us to eat this afterwards?” Sherlock asked as he did as she requested. “Our hands were all over it, you know. It cannot be sanitary!”

“It’s just for looks,” Joan answered.

“Where are we going to put it?”

“I don’t know we’ll figure something out. Could I have the mini-marshmallows, please?”

“What do you need mini-marshmallows for?”

“Fake snow,” Joan answered as she started to assemble a graham cracker roof. “I know you’ve never made a gingerbread house before, Sherlock but surely you’ve _seen_ one.”

“I’ve never much cared for the frivolity of the season,” Sherlock answered. “I confess much of my holidays were spent conducting research or catching up on my extra-curricular reading. Mother put her best effort in to make Christmas good while she was alive but it just wasn’t the same after she passed away.”

All comments about Sherlock being Ebenezer Scrooge were curbed with this nugget of information about him. Joan continued to work on her gingerbread house in silence while he helped her without any more complaints or criticisms or questions about _why_ they were doing what they were doing.

It turned out to be a very pleasant afternoon together.

**_(driving) around, looking at Christmas lights_ **

“Usually we’d drive out of the city and look at all the houses decorated for Christmas,” Joan told Sherlock as they strolled down the street together, looking at the lights that the city of New York had strung out for the upcoming holidays. “Oran and I would make hot chocolate from scratch for everybody and we’d listen to Nat King Cole’s Christmas album. It was so much fun, it always felt like Christmas.”

“And what about this?” Sherlock asked as they stopped in front of the gigantic Christmas tree in front of the Rockefeller Center. “Does _this_ feel like Christmas?”

“It feels like a _new_ kind of Christmas,” Joan answered, smiling at him. “Like we’re creating our own traditions. . . which is the way it’s supposed to be When—”

“When _what_?” Sherlock asked, looking at her.

Joan shook her head. “Nothing. It’s nothing,” she answered. “Come on, I’m freezing! Let’s go find some hot chocolate! 

**_Attending a Christmas Party_ **

It was probably the fifth Christmas party Sherlock had attended with Joan. It was the fifth time she had donned a little black dress, glittery diamond jewelry and a sleek hairstyle. It was the fifth time that Sherlock had worn a tuxedo. It was the fifth time they had foregone champagne, it was the fifth time they had both listened to the same stories about William junior and Petra and Violet. . . it was the fifth time their parents were trying to outdo each other.

_William got the lead in the school play!_

_Well Petra is playing first violin in the_ New York City Youth Orchestra _._

 _Violet’s dancing the part of young Clara with_ the New York Ballet Company _!_

It was the fifth time that Sherlock had gotten bored and Joan had to put her hand on his arm to keep him from saying something that would embarrass her in front of all her former friends. It was the fifth time that he wondered why she would even care what they thought about her.

They had only invited them to these parties as a formality. None of them approved of him, all of them stared at the platonic couple wondering _what the hell_ Joan was doing with her life. He could read each and every one of their minds.

 _Oh how the mighty have fallen!_ they all screamed silently, each one of them looked like they were calculating how they would get Joan alone so they could try and talk her out of her personal choices (again).

If Sherlock hated Christmas before, the people in Joan’s erstwhile circle could only succeed in making him hate it more.

It was the fifth time Joan had sensed his mood and bowed out early, thanking their hostess for inviting them and giving her a kiss on both cheeks before wrapping her faux mink stole around her shoulders and dragging Sherlock outside to hail a taxi and go back to the Brownstone.

It was the fifth time she had put a Christmas movie on, making him watch it with her in their formal wear as his penance for making her leave a party early even though she had started to hate the pretense of her old lifestyle just as much as he did.

**_a kiss under the mistletoe_ **

It was the sixth Christmas party they had been invited to, it was the first time they wouldn’t be able to leave early because it was Christmas Eve and the party was at Joan’s family’s apartment and they were actually expected to spend the night.

“Don’t look now but the two of you are standing under the mistletoe!” Mary Watson giggled, a little bit drunk on spiked eggnog.

Morland Holmes looked at them with interest, he had long suspected that there was something going on between the pair but had never been able to confirm his hypothesis.

Sherlock shifted uncomfortably because he didn’t want to give his father the pleasure of even thinking that he was right and because of all the Christmas traditions that he had participated in, he’d conveniently forgotten all about _this one_ because he hadn’t even imagined they would get themselves into this situation.

They had been so careful.

“You don’t have to do it,” Joan told him quietly, getting ready to step out from under the mistletoe.

Before he knew what was happening - and Sherlock usually had such good control over his actions - he was pulling her closer and kissing her in a way that he was sure she had never been kissed before.

Except, _he_ was the one who was being kissed in a way he had never been kissed before. Not really because this time it wouldn’t turn out to be a lie like it had when he had been with Irene (Jamie).

They both pulled away after a few seconds and looked at each other. Joan turned a little red and tried to untangle herself from Sherlock’s arms.

He let her go, unable to decide if he should say something that was completely _him_ and ruin the moment or just let it go, let her go because to him, those were the only two options. He wouldn’t even consider a third one where he kissed her again or maybe engaged in some of the fantasies he had indulged in over the past few years of their partnership. He wouldn’t tell her that he loved her even though _that_ was true.

It would be uncharacteristic of him.

But looking at her, so beautiful in the glow of white lights with an orchestra of Christmas music playing in the background, he couldn’t do the characteristic thing of him either.

He wanted to rewind and start December all over again. Maybe if he treated Christmas the way that he always had, he wouldn’t have ended up _here_.

“Go,” Joan whispered. “It’s okay.”

But Sherlock knew if he _did_ go it would be one of the few things he regretted for the rest of his life. So, he kissed her again . . .  consequences be damned.

**_opening Christmas presents on Christmas morning_ **

For the first time in his life, Sherlock had spent more than a few minutes choosing the perfect present for somebody. He usually just knew on instinct right off what the recipient would like and even though the same had been true with Joan, he had wanted to get her something a little more than a box set of the complete season of _ER_ or a first edition copy of _Gray’s Anatomy_ (the medical textbook, not the television show).

He had argued with himself that a piece of jewelry would be too personal but had changed his mind at the last minute and wound up purchasing a silver paper airplane necklace that he knew she would love because she was always looking for unique pieces of jewelry to wear with her equally unique wardrobe.

When he saw the way her eyes lit up when she opened it, he knew he had made the right decision.

She asked him to help her put it on right away. He pushed her hair away from her neck and caressed the nape of it with calloused fingers, for a second he forgot that her whole entire family was watching them.

“Thank you Sherlock,” Joan whispered.

Sherlock smiled at her. “Merry Christmas, Joan.”

 

**_The End_**

 

**.**

**Author's Note:**

> Not my favorite attempt, I will confess. It took me a dozen tries before I even came up with this. My inspiration was AWOL this time around. That being said, I hope you will grace this randomness with a review. I would love to know what you thought!
> 
> Merry Christmas!


End file.
